"Blue, that's not funny," he scolds, his face falling.
"Lighten up. It's a joke."
He doesn't say anything, moves toward the door, and opens it.
I walk toward him, purse strap digging into my shoulder, heart almost as loud as my heels once they hit the hallway. At the threshold, I pause.
He arches his eyebrows.
I ask, "If I weren't your patient, would you buy me a drink at a bar?"
A muscle jumps in his throat. His eyes flash something raw and unguarded for one single, perfect beat.
Silence wraps around us, heavy as an oath.
I smile, small and sharp. "Thought so." I walk out before he demands his cell phone number back.
By the time I reach the elevator, my hands shake so badly I have to hit the button twice. The doors close, boxing me into mirrored metal and humming cables.
I stare at my reflection.
My cheeks are flushed, my eyes bright, and my lips parted slightly like I just stepped away from a kiss instead of from a man who spent more time telling me what he will not do than anything else.
I press my palm against my thigh through the skirt, right over the covered cut. The skin is tender, and it throbs, syncing with my heartbeat.
Every breath he took unspools behind my eyes. The elevator opens, and a laugh slips out of me, low and breathless.
"I will not be good next time," I say into the empty lift. "You and I both know that."
The words hang over me with sweet relief.
Today, he wanted me.
He can hide behind ethics and structure and every rule in his thick, pristine policies, but I saw it in his eyes, his throat, and his hands.
Dr. Red Mercer is no longer a man my parents think can save me from what disappoints them.
He's the man who'll bleed for me before this is over.
CHAPTER SIX
Red
Saturday mornings used to belong to me. They were a welcome slow stretch of silence. I'd take a long run along the lake, then enjoy my coffee instead of something I drank between sessions. Those mornings held an order that made sense.
Today, there's none.
The only thing in my head is a twenty-five-year-old woman with blue hair who admitted she imagined my hands on her, like she was describing the weather.
I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, watching a faint line of sunlight sneak between my curtains. I should get up. Instead, my mind drags me back into the moment she said it.
Her voice dropped an octave, soft and deliberate, as if she were testing the edges of the room and me. Her breath shifted before her eyes tracked my throat.
I want to be touched until I burn, Dr. Mercer. Do you know how to do that?Blue's voice asks over and over in my head.
"Enough," I mutter, and throw the covers back before I spiral down this memory any further. Cold air hits my skin and grounds me for a second. I force myself upright, plant my feet on the hardwood, and inhale deeply. I get dressed and leave my condo before my thoughts can drag me back into the apartment.
The cold morning air hits hard as I step onto the path along the river. The sky hangs low over the city, streaked in muted gray, and the water moves in slow, dark waves that swallow the light. I start at an easy pace, letting my legs warm and my body find the rhythm I haven't been able to hold anywhere else this week.
